


turpentine

by kangeiko



Category: Harry Potter - Rowling
Genre: Gen, Poetry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-02-22
Updated: 2004-02-22
Packaged: 2017-10-09 19:31:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 852
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/90757
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kangeiko/pseuds/kangeiko
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mrs Black considers murder and bloodlines.</p>
            </blockquote>





	turpentine

If I could breathe, I'd choke and choke  
(choke on it, too, you filthy little -).  
Choke on my rage and my disappointment  
(last of my line and a blood traitor; so glad your father died before -).

If I could breathe I'd do more than scream  
(that abomination here in my home, shame in my mouth).  
You couldn't quiten me with stifling curtains and shouts and ropey gags  
(and it's lucky I can't taste it)  
not in my house, no  
(not anymore).  
Still comings and goings at all hours  
(no decent parents would let their children out at -)  
and my rugs and floors trampled, trampled  
(not fit to walk on our ground, filthy little mud-)  
and traitors, traitors in my home  
(taken it for their own).

If I could breathe, I'd betray you all  
(Kreacher's gone, no one is left),  
I'd give you up  
(you cost me my children, my husband, my parents).  
I'd give you all up, those little blood-traitors  
(they look like he did as a child)  
Running about in my home  
(spoiling my furniture; handprints everywhere).

If I could breathe, no curtain would silence me  
(I do my best now, but I'm all alone).  
I'd leave here and bring back help  
(yes, yes, all of them in black, see how you like it)  
see them take you away  
(what a pity I can't follow).  
I'd spell the house to haunt you all  
(doing well by itself, anyway),  
force you out  
(what are you doing in my home?),  
make you leave  
(what will it take?),  
make you pay for all you've taken  
(Kreacher and my husband and my children; no one cares).

If I could breathe, I'd leave here  
(I'm sure none of you will feel remorse),  
leave my home to be rid of you  
(no, not for one of those to me, cold in the ground),  
all those monsters that son of mine brought back  
(and what was he doing here anyway?).  
I'd carve up the outside  
(lock you in the house; it'll finish you off)  
bit by bit  
(just like you did to my tapestries),  
wait for you to emerge  
(carrying more of my things to throw away),  
wait for you to not pay attention  
(those charms only work on the living).

If I could breathe, I'd see how my son is  
(cold and in the ground, good riddance),  
how his friends treated him  
(Kreacher overstepped the bounds),  
how all those little mudbloods treated him  
(he should listen when I speak).  
No curse too good for him  
(just a few to ease the way),  
no jinx too small  
(but they only work on the living).  
And where has Kreacher gone  
(he hid, the little monster, he hid)?

If I could breathe, I'd remember all your sins  
(or was it Kreacher that did it?),  
all those little things you want forgotten  
(painted over in the middle of the night; i'm still here).  
I'd see it all and tell them in the morning  
(how embarrassing for you and your mudblood friends),  
wouldn't you like to know what I know  
(best shut me up now; won't work)?

If I could breathe, I'd smell the guilt on you  
(my children, my children, cold in the ground),  
smell the guilt for your sins  
(and my own would stifle me).  
Should have my options, don't you think  
(I get to choose who stays here),  
get a house elf to do your dirty work  
(Kreacher did too good a job that time),  
no need to sully your hands  
(I didn't ask, I'd sure of it).

If I could breathe, I'd kill that little monster  
(Too good a job; who asked him to do it?),  
wring his neck and wait for the 'pop'  
(thought he was helping; a whole bottle of the stuff!).  
I can smell it all over the house  
(I bet they don't even notice),  
it's seeped into the furniture  
(it's seeped into me),  
thick and unyielding and acidic on the tongue  
(I can't smell anything).

If I could breathe, I could stop myself  
(just one inhalation).  
Kreacher did too good a job  
(wring his neck, the presumptious little -),  
this time and the last  
(took him twice: curtain and turpentine).  
Maybe I should have killed him earlier  
(I can't fault the curtain),  
put his head on the wall  
(he really shouldn't have used the entire bottle),  
put an end to it  
(damnable creature).

If I could breathe, I could smell my guilt  
(perhaps I told him to do it).  
It has seeped into the furniture  
(damnable stuff stains),  
the floor, the walls, the curtains  
(the ones in front of me keep me quiet),  
the paintings on the walls  
(and they're all blank canvases now):  
Kreacher did too good a job  
(the last part of him is gone).  
And I, the mother, if I could breathe  
(behind the curtain, the smell of turpentine is strong),  
what would I do  
(cold in the ground, and the canvas now blank)?

Yes, I told Kreacher to kill him  
(if I could breathe, I'd smell his death),  
but I'm sure I said just the once  
(it smells of turpentine).

*

fin


End file.
